


A Mongoose does not Crack

by deutschtard



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Behind the Scenes, Dissociation, Gen, Male Friendship, Manipulation, Spoilers for Trou Normand, Spoilers for season 1 episode 9, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deutschtard/pseuds/deutschtard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal cooks dinner, they speak of Abigail's book, and he earns himself an unexpected guest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mongoose does not Crack

He could see why Jack Crawford thought him a broken teacup. He could see the cracks forming in Will's presence, the essence of that which made him the type of thing Hannibal admired was pooling about his feet, dripping out of his ears as he came closer and closer to the ledge of sanity. He could see the spidering lines from the nicks and dings that Jack Crawford had caused with his obtuse and controlling nature. He was not angry, for he could understand the stressors of a wife slowly withdrawing from him to die, like a cat crawling under the house. He pushed people away while pushing them to their limits. He did not know how to handle Will, though he thought he did. He forced Will to make choices against his best interests, to fray him faster than he should be frayed. 

Hannibal knew Will had a choice to make now, he knew which choice would be the best for Will, which choice would help the real William Graham show through, that would let this essence that was oozing out burst free and fly forth as it was intended to.

He could feel Will trembling under his grip as the shorter man avoided his gaze. "Soon this will be the only story any of us cares to tell," he said, turning the screw, threading himself deeper into Will's subconsciousness, becoming that much more of a paddle for him, that much more vital to his continued existence. He injected his venom slowly, carefully, making sure to ease it into Will's system until it became a part of him. He did not want to overwhelm him, he was already at that point, and Hannibal did not want to push him over the edge before he was ready.

When Will got into the Bentley with him, the drive was silent. Hannibal did not chance turning the radio on, for he could see just where the fissures in Will were glowing brightest, which ones would rupture in which way, should he introduce something unnecessary into his life. This dinner would be helpful. It would be a chance for redemption, for clarification, and, Hannibal hoped, for respect among all parties.

He cooked, and Will stood at the edge of the island, his eyes tracing over the hands that sliced meat with practiced ease, that created plates as artful as the Rennaissance masters created their Sistine Chapels, their Venus. "I wish I knew how to cook like that," Will said, making Hannibal pause his slicing of vegetables.

"I could teach you, you know," Hannibal said, a small smile quirking his lips, "Nothing so intricate as this, but I'm perfectly able to each you how to make yourself a decent steak. Perhaps changing your diet would help you."

Will spat a chuckle, "I don't think cutting out a cheeseburger is going to make me remember those three and a half hours,"

Hannibal flipped the cutlet over, searing the other side, "I didn't say it would. But if you are more physically healthy, perhaps your mind will follow suit," he saw Will shake his head, "Take that knife and slice those onions, please, Will. It would save me a lot of time." His hands continued moving as he watched Will hesitate, taking the knife in his grasp as though it would electrocute him, and, when it did nothing of the sort, Hannibal smiled as Will took a deep breath to stop his hand from shaking and do as he was told.

Abigail, who had been dropped off by Alana earlier, in agreement that this dinner would be beneficial, was setting the table when the knock came from the front door. Hannibal raised his voice, "Abigail, would you please let Miss Lounds in?" He carefully took the meat off the burner, not plating it quite yet, not wanting to rush anything, as he walked towards his own foyer. "Miss Lounds, I appreciate you accepting my invitation."

Freddie took her coat off and Hannibal hung it on a hanger in his coat closet, "I've heard of your legendary meals, Doctor Lecter, I don't think I could pass up such an invitation."

Hannibal smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes, "Tonight I've made us all a steak ta--"

"Steak? Doctor, I'm a vegetarian," she stated calmly, eyes level with his, watching him as she threw a curveball to see how he'd react. 

His lips pursed, head dipping down slowly, "My apologies," he said, "I'll prepare a hearty salad instead. It is good I have not yet cooked your portion." Abigail stood next to him, fidgeting with her sleeves until he spoke her name, "Please show Miss Lounds into the dining room,"

"All right," she said, faking a smile, though without the refinement or practiced ease of the doctor's as she spun on her heel and walked into the dining room, expecting Freddie to follow(which she did).

Will had finished chopping the onions when Doctor Lecter returned to the kitchen, "Don't you think inviting the press for dinner is sort of like getting into bed with your enemies?" he asked, rinsing the knife, his eyes red from the sting of the onions.

His hand covered Will's and took the knife from him, turning the faucet off as he withdrew his hand, "I think it is nothing like that. In fact, this dinner is exactly what Abigail needs. She is going to write this book whether we want her to or not,"

"But--"

"And," Hannibal continued, beginning to wash the lettuce for Freddie's salad, "seeing us getting along with Miss Lounds will be beneficial to her. She will see where our boundaries with miss Lounds lie, and be able to reinforce her own boundaries before she dives into this project head first."

Will took in a shaky breath and rubbed at his eyes, "I think she needs a different editor,"

"I am not disagreeing with you. But perhaps Abigail is stronger than you give her credit for, Will. She will not let Miss Lounds take advantage of her current state in lieu of the truth."

The salad went together perfectly, the dinner conversation was civil, though Hannibal would have preferred a slight less amount of father bear posturing from Will. He found it strangely endearing. 

Washing dishes with Abigail allowed Hannibal to turn another screw, sticking it into place between the folds of her scar, between the sweat and the fear, just barely touching that strength. She cracked earlier than he anticipated, and he opened his arms, encircling her as the ouroboros, as the spider with his web. "We are going to protect you," he whispered, letting her cry herself dry against his forearm. He could smell the salt and desperation as she got herself under control, and it was then he knew just how he would mould her, how he would push Will into moulding her. He stroked her hair as she had stroked the deer's hide with her father, "You are safe now," he whispered.

Dinner had ended, Freddie Lounds had left, Abigail was taken home, and now Will stood in the corner of the dining room, unsure of what to do.  
"Will, you need sleep, you should go home," Hannibal said.

His eyes twinkled as he laughed, "You seem to have forgotten that I didn't drive myself here."

Hannibal smiled, "I didn't forget. I have a guest bedroom upstairs, it is far too late to be driving you home tonight. I have appointments early in the morning." He clenched his fist, digging his thumbnail into the pad of his ring finger inside his pocket as he watched Will stiffen momentarily, meet his eyes for longer than he had dared before.

"I can't sleep here, I need--" 

"I assure you, we will wake up in plenty of time to get you home to your pack. They will survive one night without you. You've left the heat on for them, they will not freeze, and their bowls are full, they will not starve." Will wanted to interrupt him, the unuttered phrases sticking to his teeth as he tried to cut Hannibal off. Hannibal's tongue ran over his bottom teeth as Will hissed in a breath.

"That's not what I need,"

"I'm sure that whatever you require, I have a suitable replacement."

Will's head twitched as he tried to grapple with the amount of kindness the doctor was extending to him. His nerves were frayed, his body was in danger of shutting down as he hadn't slept more than an hour in the past three days. He knew Hannibal could see this, and he knew Hannibal wouldn't take no for an answer. He could feel the cracks in his psyche bleeding through, cracking his very skin, his human shell, he almost wondered if Hannibal could see the cracks. "I--" he said, starting to walk towards the stairs before his knees buckled and he lost his balance.

Hannibal moved to catch him, slithering under his arm to keep him upright, "You're sleeping here. There's no further discussion, Will." Will was dazed, dissociated, and Hannibal saw that the shell he was holding currently was not Will Graham. He tried to move them forward, but Will's legs did not want to work, "I cannot carry you to the bed, Will," he said, his voice ever-so-slightly stern, "You have to help me."

His feet moved, one in front of the other, step by step, and he placed Will on the bed with as much care as he could muster. "Will, Will," Hannibal raised his voice, but Will was so deeply buried inside himself at the moment that not even he could penetrate those walls--forts, Will had called them.

Ensuring he would not injure himself within the next few minutes, Hannibal retreated to his own bedroom, opening the dresser and selecting an undershirt and a pair of thin pants. On his way out, he paused, went back and grabbed something, and as he entered the guest bedroom, found Will much as he left him.

His hands moved with ease as he replaced Will's clothing piece by piece, folding them and placing them on the chair in front of the dressing table, his shoes neatly beneath it.

"Will, it's time to go to sleep," he said, garnering the same non-response as before. The sheets were turned down, and he placed the towels he had grabbed on the bedside table, within easy reach for Will. 

He did not expect Will's hand on his forearm, "Will," he said, looking at him, but Will's gaze had not moved from the non-descript spot on the wall he had been focusing on the entire time, "If you need something, you're going to have to come back to the room and tell me," he said, looking right in Will's eyes, though they were unfocused, staring through Hannibal's head.

Hannibal had known Will was strong, but the sheer force with which his arms wrapped around him caught him off-guard for the barest of moments. "Will, come back," he said, repeated, quietly until the vise-like grip broke abruptly and Will skittered across the bed.

"I-I'm sorry....I--did you change my clothes?" he asked, incredulous.

He smiled, "As a guest in my house, you're not going to sleep in the clothes you wore today. I promise you your levels of modesty are intact. Your clothing is on the chair there," he pointed over his shoulder as he took a step back and straightened out, much like a cobra unfurling its hood.

Will's eyes darted across the floor, Hannibal's knees, his own hands, "I don't think I'm comfortable with you having done that,"

"I apologize. You had dissociated, you know how dangerous it is to try to force someone out of a dissociative state. I did not want to risk it," he said, his voice calm, low, soothing.

Will stuttered a nod, "Next time, you should risk it,"

"I will keep that in mind. Sleep, Will. My bedroom is at the end of the hall, should you need anything. The guest bathroom is across the hall. I will take you to my office tomorrow and you can pick up your car and drive home, after I've made you breakfast of course."

Another snorted chuckle, "If you bring me to work with you, people will talk," his attempt at a bad joke made Hannibal smirk.

"Will they, Will? Will Uncle Jack suspect something?" A shake of the head, "Goodnight, Will."

"Goodnight, Doctor Lecter."

Hannibal closed the door, not latching it, and padded to his bedroom in his stocking feet. He chose to forgo his usual night routine of wine and classical music, choosing instead to sit silently and listen until he was sure Will had fallen asleep. He tutted once to himself, quietly constructing a room in his memory palace much like the current guest bedroom in his home, but larger, with enough room for Will's pack, his dogs. He wanted to forever remember Will, to be able to look back on this moment, on this man as he was right now, on the verge of the greatness he was so carefully easing him into.


End file.
